Sun and Moon
by FrankieSunflower
Summary: Caspian and Peter get all thoughtful and rediscover each other.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: C.S Lewis owns all the characters used below, and the setting. I'm just a sad little fan fiction writer who lives in a fantasy world where she thinks she can use said characters and setting.

.

.

.

.

Lucy knew that Peter and Caspian could get petty, but this was just too much. Everything that went wrong, the prideful and hot-tempered Peter would blame it immediately on the emotionally-driven and responsible Caspian, who always and without fail found a way to throw the blame back in his face, and so on. But as far as scribbles on the wall were concerned, all Lucy knew was that she'd do just about anything to stop them from fighting. Anything except admit it was her. And since that was just about the only thing she could do to stop them fighting, Lucy simply sat in observant silence and watched their respective prides burn and shrivel.

'They're YOUR crayons! Who else has access to your personal supplies?'

'And how do you know it was done by my crayons? Because you did it yourself, that's why!'

'I happen to have artistic abilities. This cave-art could only have been done by your uneducated hand!'

'_Uneducated?!_ How dare you call me uneducated, you prehistoric spoiled brat?!'

'That's rich, coming from a 3000 year old child.'

'I'm not the one who scribbled fauns and centaurs and butterflies all over the castle walls!'

'Neither am I, but that brings me back to the original point. These were done by your crayons.'

'And how do you know they were my crayons, again?'

'What other young man besides you could possibly keep coloured crayons in his room, much less leave them lying all over the floor for the chambermaids to giggle about?'

'I never leave my crayons lying all over the floor!'

_I do_, Lucy thought guiltily as she watched them bicker. Caspian, who had previously been clutching the back of a chair, white-knuckled, had now advanced, and was challenging Peter with his slightly more masculine frame. Peter, who had originally been on the other side of the table, had also advanced, so that they were both mere feet apart, though shouting at a volume that would suggest they were on opposite sides of a canyon.

'I didn't do it, because I'm not as childish as you.'

'You're the child, not me.'

'You're an over-emotional little prince who thinks he's more important than he really is!'

'And you're a proud, simple-minded , hot-tempered, impatient, incompetent, obsolete old ruin of a King!'

It didn't take long for Susan to turn up and verbally rip them away from each other, calling both of them immature in many different ways and sending them away with her superior shouting abilities. Caspian slunk like a scolded puppy from the room, and Peter stormed out the opposite door. Susan then turned to Lucy, and crossed her arms, toes tapping on the stone floor. Lucy bit her lip and made an apologetic, guilty little face. Susan shook her head and led her little sister away by the hand.

* * *

'Stupid, senseless, foolish, idiotic ...' Caspian growled under his breath. He and Peter had thoroughly avoided each other during dinner, under the hawkishly watchful eyes of Susan. Even though they were seated near one another, they did not speak a word to each other. Lucy hadn't looked at them either. Caspian dwelled often on his fights with Peter. He did not think Peter was obsolete, in truth; he admired Peter's confidence as a leader, and his directness in all the things he did, not to mention the undeniable air of royalty and dignity he often carried with him. He himself felt considerably smaller when in Peter's company and that contributed greatly to the heat in their fights. Of course, the animosity between them was fuelled by the intensity of his first impression of Peter, or rather, who he thought Peter was. He had been raised on stories of the Kings and Queens of Olde, and Peter had always been his favourite.

His hero.

And when he had met Peter, all he had seen was a stubborn, self-absorbed, barely-a-man nearer his own age and mental state. In short, he had felt let down. Disappointed. He was trying to balance an equal measure of respect and disrespect for Peter, and it was proving remarkably difficult.

He found himself beneath the stars after excusing himself from a dinner he had no appetite for, staring up at the shining, burning white pinpoints. He wondered if they were souls. The hearts and minds of all those who had died in Narnia. He wondered at how brightly some burned, and how dull and small others seemed, and soon began to contemplate his own life. Would he appear and dwindle and die in quick succession like the morning star? Would he be dull and small, or a moon?

He heard the approach of footsteps on stone steps, and did not sit up.

* * *

Peter saw Caspian and felt suddenly tired; he wanted to retreat if his peace was to be interrupted by the other King's presence, but he knew he would have been noticed by now, and to retreat would give the wrong impression. He wordlessly lay back on the platform, crossing his arms behind his head and drawing up one knee. There was almost a peaceful silence there, as he breathed steadily and heard Caspian breathe. It was so silent. He wondered what Caspian was thinking about. He had made no gesture of recognition, but that could be him just being sulky, Peter supposed.

His vacant mind drifted to a memory of when had first been introduced to Caspian. He had looked and acted like a prince, to the point of not surprising Peter so much with the announcement that he was one. He had grudgingly admitted Caspian's very capable sword hand, and come to respect him to some degree as they worked together to beat back the Usurper Miraz and his warriors and troops. As far as Caspian himself was concerned, Peter was hard-pressed to come up with insults in moments of calm between each storm. Caspian was, in reality, very capable. It was only in moments of great stress that he required any assistance, and even then, he managed quite well on his own. Beyond that, he was honest, and patient. Peter thought of the scene that unfolded before his eyes in which Caspian refused to kill the man who had stolen so much from him. His kingdom, his pride. His father. Peter turned his head, just slightly, to look at Caspian, silhouetted beneath the moon and the shadow of the wall behind them. He saw him in a whole new light now, a warmer one, and a clearer one. He turned his head more, not caring if Caspian thought he was staring. He was, as he thought. His eyes wandered to Caspian's eyelashes, flicking up beneath the sloping cliff descending from his eyebrows. The shadow of the wall behind him covered his tanned skin, making it match the sky above, and Peter could almost see stars reflected in the light of his eyes.

Caspian turned to face Peter, and there was a slight change in his breathing. They observed each other calmly, and Peter could almost feeling Caspian's eyes sweep along his own figure, watching him, not looking for a weapon, but simply for a meaning, or a sign, or another way of understanding.

* * *

Caspian could see the black orbs of Peter's eyes in the darkness as they moved along his body, but for the first time, felt neither ashamed nor uncomfortable. Peter was not speaking or commenting or doing anything in particular; just looking at him. Caspian did not feel like he was being studied, though for all he knew, he was. His own eyes traced the outline of Peter's round face, his almond eyes and soft straight hair, his full lips. His neck retained the narrowness of youth but the leanness of approaching manhood, the same with his shoulders. Under the moon, with no-one to impress, he looked more like one of the stableboys or a young scholar, regular in shape, a typical pose, casual and still. Caspian looked away, back to the sky, but knew Peter was still looking at him. He heard and felt Peter shifting closer, and in his peripheral vision, Peter's right leg joined the sky, balanced on his left knee. Peter would glow in the sky, he knew. He would shine more brightly than any star. Peter would decline to hide in the night, only appearing for those wistful watchers below, Caspian realized. Peter would invade the daytime sky and become the sun, illuminating the world, lighting the way for all. He would shine. And lying beside the normal-looking teenage boy under the sky, the boy who seemed so casual with no-one to impress, Caspian felt smaller than he ever had.

He wanted to get up and go to sleep, but not because he was sleepy. He wanted to leave, but not because he didn't want to be around Peter. Peter must have sensed his discomfort, because his leg fell and he sat up. Caspian looked up at him, still feeling small.

'What are you thinking about?' Peter asked. Caspian blinked. 'I'm not sure I know what you mean.'

'It's a pretty simple question.'

Caspian wondered how he could explain without sounding like an idiot. He had not shared his thoughts with someone before, and he wondered at how easily Peter could make him want to use the right words.

'What do you suppose the stars are?'

'What?'

'It's a pretty simple question,' Caspian said, sitting up and mimicking Peter's tone. He heard a sigh of irritance, and Peter crossed his legs. 'According to my teachers back at school, they're sort of like small suns,' Peter began. 'They are made up of different gases, and they burn.'

'That sounds strange,' Caspian commented.

'I didn't make it up,' Peter said, his tone slightly defensive. Caspian shut his mouth and the stars became less interesting to him.

'Why? What do you think the stars are?'

Caspian suddenly felt foolish, and wished he had just said "i was thinking about dinner". He sucked his lower lip and looked down at his hands in his lap, hoping Peter would sense his unease and let him off the hook, but Peter only nudged Caspian's leg with the tip of his boots. 'What do you think the stars are?'

'It matters not.'

'What were you really thinking about?'

'It matters not!'

Suddenly, Caspian found himself on his back again, after being gently buffeted by Peter. He looked up in surprise as Peter sat on top of him, and tried to struggle free. Peter simply put his hands either side of Caspian's neck and looked down at Caspian's face. His eyes were shining, not quite mischievously so much as in the same way a cat's might before it darts for it prey. His legs were strong, Caspian noted, but his own hands were free. He took a risk and used them to grab Peter's wrists and hurl himself over on top of Peter. They wrestled, but not with intent to hurt. Caspian heard Peter laughing, and found that he himself had joined in. They pushed and rolled each other like playful dogs, each knowing that bruises would be left, but no real damage done. He had to stop the pretend-fight in order to catch his breath; he had laughed far too hard. They sat next to one another and looked out across the kingdom.

'So what do you think stars are?' Peter asked after a moment of silence. Caspian had nearly forgotten he had asked. He scratched behind his ear and, thankful for the darkness that hid his blush, and confessed.

'I was thinking of how perhaps ... the souls of the dead go to the sky. Some shine bright and bold, while some are quiet and small, and barely noticeable. My mind was wandering.'

There was another silence that followed, and Caspian was sure he had sounded a fool. He felt something warm touch his hand, and nearly pulled away in surprise, when he realized it was Peter's hand. The hand was strong, the fingers narrow and the knuckles defined, and the sweat on the palm and slight lack of pressure indicated that Peter was unsure. And, as soon as it had appeared, the hand was gone. Peter did not apologize of say anything after that. But Caspian felt as though a mountain had shook beneath him. It was profound, the touch of a hand, especially one so unsure, so gentle and meek and shy. He sought out the hand in the dark, and took it in his own. They both lay back down, fingers intertwined, staring at the souls above them.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Any of them. –sob-

.

.

.

.

Night, depending on Peter's mood, sometimes brought a dark sullen frown to his face, and sometimes it heralded revelry. That night though, beneath the stars and the souls and beneath the warmth that Caspian filled him with, he made a discovery that made him feel both as though his heart was hosting a festival, and as though all his life had lurched worryingly from one meaning to another. He lived no longer for some hazy, imprecise definition of mingled glory, valour and duty, but now for something he would have, in a more biased moment, mistaken for a fleeting, confused hope.

Caspian had become distorted in his mind, though distorted was not quite the right word. He had been transformed; from a grudgingly respectable Kingling, to an angel dressed in nothing more than its own beauty. He was innocent, yet wise; bitter cold as a distant storm yet exuding such heat that Peter was afraid he burned. He was kind but ruthless as a god of war, and for all the ways Peter wanted him, he terrified him.

Peter hugged his knee to his chest, the other stretched out on his bed. He had given up trying to sleep. He looked at his bare foot and thought about all the people it had clambered over in battlefields to get where he was now. With a sword in his hand and the glory of victory on the horizon he was a soldier, a trained killer, but sitting in his bedchamber still in his clothes he felt lives weighing on his chest. Dead Narnians and Telmarines alike. He was a teenager, and had killed. In his own culture, back home, no ... back in _England_, that was enough to earn him a death sentence. But Narnia was his home now. And the law here made him valiant, not murderous.

So, he pondered. He was an adolescent who had tasted blood and wanted more than that; the sin he wished to commit in Caspian's bed was shameful enough on its own. He had read enough of Narnian and Telmarine literature to know his feelings here were not so unusual, even if confined mainly to knights and their squires and stableboys and servants on cold nights. He wondered what level of uproar a courtship between two kings would cause here.

He nervously fisted the sheets in both hands and let his feet rub each other, telling himself he was only shivering because he was cold. But Caspian burned in his mind, ever the distant angel. And he bit his lip, wishing the teeth that drew his blood and the hand that began to slide inside his loose breeches belonged to Caspian.

* * *

Caspian collapsed onto the floor and held the pillow to his chest, not bothering to get back onto the bed. At least he was free of the bright sunlight from down there on the floor. He nuzzled his face into the pillow, and shut his eyes tightly. He couldn't stay there forever, but while he was alone, he might as well do what he only could when he was alone.

If he dwelled on Peter while in the public eye, he realized that he received more than one strange look. He could not think too deeply on anything without getting a vague, glazed look in his eyes, his Professor had said, and all attempts to look more Kingly whilst deep in thought had failed miserably, so he had settled for the normally unfavourable habit of not thinking too deeply about anything at all, unless on his own or in the company of very unobservant people. Peter was not something his mind could skim over. It was like trying to walk across a lake, he mused. Sinking into memories and wishes and hopes and disappointments and desires that would forever remain unspoken. He grimaced to think of Peter's reaction were he to show him his true self; an adoring kitten. Peter was truly the only man he knew to be honest enough to reply to a confession of undying love with verbal violence.

On the other hand, Peter had touched his hand and allowed his hand to be held, that night. He had played with Caspian as though they were little children, and laughed. Caspian loved Peter's laugh. It was jovial and loud and high, not squawky enough to sound like a bird getting squeezed but just enough to sound slightly like the plaintive howl of a wolf. Caspian wondered if he knew anything about Peter at all. He was aware that Peter had hidden depths and his own secrets, and wondered whether he was in any of them. Sadly, he got to his feet and wandered to the dresser. He didn't think so.

At breakfast, Peter was as scarily polite to him as he had been since that night. Nothing had happened or been spoken of since then, so Caspian assumed Peter had been in some strange mood and had by now forgotten that brief, sweet moment. Caspian munched absent-mindedly on some strange fruit and eggs and black bread with a number of spreads, and afterward he nibbled on a sweet cake before rejecting it for a council meeting. Peter attended, sitting on a chair on the raised dais at Caspian's right. Caspian fought not to get distracted, but Peter only got handsomer every day.

The night that followed, Caspian stumbled into his bedroom after falling out with him. The walls around him seemed to trap him, instead of keep him safe, like they once did when he was a child. The late afternoon birds mocked him instead of singing to him and his bed seemed empty and too large with only himself occupying it. He dwelled over Peter's harsh words, wishing he had just agreed instead of fighting back, as was his normal custom. Peter was unforgiving in his fury, and Caspian was impetuous. Both knew that words spoken during a row certainly were not meant. But that was difficult to believe when they had been spoken with such hatred in a voice that could also laugh so kindly.

* * *

Peter bit his knuckles, and paced his room. He wanted to go to Caspian, but he dreaded what he'd start. He wanted to kiss Caspian, but he wanted to avoid him just as much. He contemplated how surrendering one's heart and soul took bravery that one wouldn't find on a battlefield. He felt like a child. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands. A shadow of Caspian leaned over and put gentle hands on his shoulders, smiling as he kissed his neck and, for a moment, made him feel better. But when he looked up, his room was empty. He got up resiliently, then, buckling before the colossal challenge before him, sat down again.

_King Peter the Magnificent_, a voice sneered in his head. _More like King Peter the Coward_. He smacked his own head, twice, three times, and stood up. Hiding in his room there was no chance he would have Caspian. Going and admitting himself, there was a chance he would get blown back and live the rest of his time feeling awful, but he needed to take the risk. He couldn't bear to regret saying nothing when he had a chance now.

He found himself standing in front of Caspian's door, and thinking for a moment it was a minotaur that was trying to stare him down. Before he could catch himself, he knocked sharply on the door.

'Who would enter without announcing themselves?' came Caspian's voice.

'Who do you think?' Peter replied, trying to sound light-hearted, but sounding more bored and a bit mean. He winced and let the door open almost fully before stepping in. He turned and faced Caspian, who looked cautious but patient and dignified in his loose white nightshirt and equally loose leggings. He looked like a little boy in his father's clothes, slightly mussed hair and dull sleepy eyes. Peter could mentally add a teddy bear.

Noticing that Caspian was waiting for an announcement, Peter came to the uncomfortable realization that he couldn't think of anything at all to say. Seeking and scrabbling in his head for some reason to interrupt Caspian late at night, he went straight back to why he had wanted to come. All that came to him were a few unspeakable images of things he'd like to do with (and to) Caspian, and a desire to confess his love, which came hand-in-hand with a desire to run away like a squeamish little girl.

'I'm waiting,' Caspian said. Peter went further back to the night they lay hand-in-hand under the stars. Ever since he had tried to be nice, but even he knew he just came across as awkward, and probably a bit weird. There had been a quiet empathy. _Whatever Gods exist out there_, Peter prayed silently, _please, please, i promise to be good if you grant me that and Caspian tonight_. He took Caspian's hand in the meantime, and led him to the bed. He half-expected and feared Caspian to pull away, but Caspian didn't. He allowed himself to be led, and Peter lay on the bed, patting a spot next to himself next to the edge. Caspian looked disquieted for a moment, as though expecting a trick, but lay beside Peter nonetheless. Peter leaned over Caspian's body, "accidentally" brushing his hand over Caspian's lower abdomen, to blow out the candle that Caspian had lit which sat on the bedside table.

In the presence of the darkness, Caspian became a nocturnal beast.

* * *

He knew he had permission when Peter took him by the hand, but was so scared of misconstruing a sign of brotherly trust until Peter brought him to the bed with his eyes darkened with lust and wandering hand as he leaned to blow out the candle. Caspian took Peter's face in his hands and pulled him down, flipping them over into the middle of the bed and lying on top of Peter. Their lips crashed together, hot and moist and moving. Every last niggling little unsure feeling went flying out his open window when Peter's tongue danced with his own, and his hands gripped his arms so tightly he was sure he would have bruises the next morning. Peter lifted one knee between Caspian's legs, pressing closer between his thighs until he could not stop himself from ceasing the kiss to moan against Peter's neck, and roll his hips to rub against Peter's own hardness. That got a very, very pleasant reaction. He softly bit Peter's pale, warm flesh and sucked it, intending to mark Peter's skin, marking him as his property, his love. _His_ Peter. He liked the sound of it.

Peter's hands found the curve of Caspian's butt and grasped it, encouraging Caspian's movement, breathing heavily. He wanted more. He wriggled his hand between the fabric and Caspian's skin, fingers finding Caspian's entrance. Caspian bucked his hips when he felt the intrusion of the first finger, and raised himself from the waist up, legs still bracing him either side of Peter's. He shifted closer so he could sit up without disturbing Peter's administrations, whimpering slightly. He was a virgin still, unspoiled, untaken; the feeling was unfamiliar, but far from unwelcome. Peter had a talented hand. He stopped thinking altogether and groaned when Peter pressed against a spot inside that made a blissfully hot, sweet sensation shoot up his spine. Peter sat up too, and somehow the two of them managed to stop for long enough to scramble out of their clothes until both were entirely naked. Caspian felt suddenly vulnerable and shy without his clothes, especially with Peter's lean, slightly muscled yet slender as a knife body laid out before him. _Peter the Magnificent indeed_, Caspian thought, eyeing his manhood. He was well-endowed for sure, and the sight of it at attention made Caspian ache.

'Come here,' Peter beckoned, and Caspian crawled across the bed on all fours to him. Peter's lips curved into a vicious smile, and he got on his knees, growling softly. Caspian smiled as well, and made a soft purring noise at the back of his throat. Peter pawed Caspian's arms and shoulders, kissing his neck and jaw, touching Caspian's lips with his tongue and then biting his shoulder, almost savagely. He got back on his knees, bringing Caspian up with him, kissing his cheek and then his lips. Caspian's hand found Peter's cock and squeezed it softly, brushing his fingers across it, from the base of the shaft to the very tip. He felt Peter shudder, felt the pre-come, and brought his hand to his mouth, licking his fingertips in front of Peter, who let out a shuddering breath and licked his own lips. He pushed Caspian onto his back, and without warning, closed his mouth around Caspian's cock and started to suck. Caspian gasped and tangled his fingers in Peter's hair, legs spread. Peter's hand found its way back to where they had started, and Caspian found himself being pleasured on both ends. _He really won't be outdone_ ...

* * *

He felt himself getting close as he ran his tongue along the shaft. He had thought it would be disgusting or horrible, but this was _Caspian_, and the thought of every inch of his delicious body being at his mercy made him want to devour him. Which he nearly did. He sucked hungrily, pressing his fingertip hard against the spot that was currently driving Caspian mad. He was writhing, panting, crying out Peter's name in a breathless voice, and groaning so loudly Peter was afraid someone would hear them. But the noises he made were so sexy and sincere, and made him only want to do it all more and more and more until Caspian was too exhausted to move.

He released Caspian's throbbing cock, licking the length once more before kissing the tip and swallowing it whole again. Caspian screamed out and shot salty white liquid into his throat, which he swallowed.

He got onto his elbows and looked up along Caspian's heaving chest to his closed eyes and the look of utter shock on his face. He moved up and let his own stiff cock brush across Caspian's upper thigh as he did. Caspian's dark, beautiful eyes opened halfway, and his lifted his legs again in invitation. Peter silently sat up, arranging Caspian's derriere to sit in his lap, Caspian's knees at his shoulders. He pressed his tip against the entrance and started to push himself in. Caspian winced slightly, but nodded as Peter looked concerned, smiling.

'It's alright, _mi amor_,' he said. 'Fill me.'

Peter pushed himself all the way in, and had to freeze to stop himself from outright raping Caspian. It was so hot, and tight, he squeezed his hands and felt Caspian's between them. He rocked gently back and forth, moaning at his own impatience. He didn't want to hurt Caspian, but instinct made him want to fuck Caspian's lights out no matter the result.

'Ah .. aah ... mi amor ... Peter ...' Caspian was whimpering beneath him. He slowed, much to the rage of the voice in his head. He was about to ask, but Caspian shouted impatiently, 'For Aslan's sake, and your own, you're going slow enough _as it is_!'

He picked up his pace, plunging in and out of Caspian's body, pushing himself to the edge as Caspian made animalistic noises beneath him, occasionally speaking some other language with such ferocity Peter got angry at probably being the only person in the castle who _didn't_ know what he was screaming.

Just as Peter felt himself rising to the heights of his pleasure, he felt Caspian kick forward, the pressure forcing Peter onto his back. Before he knew it, Caspian was astride him, staring down at him, grazing his fingers across Peter's nipples. '_Necesito sentirte_ ...'

He saw a dangerous glint in Caspian's eyes, and knew he was in for it.

* * *

All sense gone, Caspian started to rise and fall, feeling the length and thickness, riding him with more ferocity each stroke. Peter's caution had been sweet, made him feel loved, but the pure incompleteness of being treated like he was breakable was too much, especially when what he really lusted after was to be dominated with the same fury he was when they fought. He saw Peter grit his teeth beneath him as he bucked, riding Peter harder as his pleasure rose rapidly. He was at a gallop now, grinding into him, hearing a laugh escape his own lips. He suddenly felt a thrust, and Peter's hands at his hips, fingers digging into his skin. Peter was bucking his hips now, and they found a rhythm, rough and unsteady, uneven, but pushing Caspian over the edge until he was shouting things in Telmarine he was glad Peter couldn't hear.

He rushed toward orgasm and came hard, feeling Peter's seed fill him at the same time, and seconds later he slowly fell onto his side, Peter easing out of him. He clenched at the sudden pain, and had to rearrange himself. He ached again, but in a different way. The rage of their lovemaking was taking its toll on him already. He found Peter on the bed and felt the covers being pulled up to his chin. Peter was snuggling into him now, and he found himself a kitten again, grinning and feeling silly as Peter held him.

'I should have said first ...' Peter whispered. Caspian nuzzled his face into the gap between Peter's head and shoulder, instead of the pillow. 'Mm?'

'I love you.'

Caspian felt giddy all of a sudden, and pressed his lips against Peter's collarbone to stop himself making an embarrassing noise. He lifted his head after a moment, to say 'I love you ... also.'

Peter stroked Caspian's cheek, then took his chin and lifted his head again to kiss him chastely.

Sometime during the night, Caspian rolled over so his back was to Peter's warm body and his front facing the wall and the window. The souls in the sky watched him. He smiled and shut his eyes again. If Peter was to be the sun, solitary and proud in the morning sky, then he would be no meek star to miss him by mere hours at the ending of every day. He would greet him at twilight, and they would occupy the sky together until it was time for him to shine on his own and guard vigilantly every night. He would be a moon to Peter's sun, and they would shine together.


End file.
